The Comforts of Home
by katreeny
Summary: Kink meme de-anon. Prussia helps Germany relax. And relax . This one is Germancest with plot.


The meeting had – as always – been a complete farce. Germany's expression might not have changed while he drove from the airport to his home in Berlin, but tense muscles slowly relaxed and his mood shifted from irritation to anticipation.

The meeting weeks – one a month, second full week of the month – were a trial, as much because there was no need for both his nation's representatives to attend as for any other reason. It had started that way because Prussia hadn't been in the best shape after the wall came down: he'd been working _against_ his bosses, and been pulled out of a Stasi prison some months after the border opened.

Germany's chest still tightened at the memory of his brother, white hair stained brown with dried blood, starved and close to death. His impossibly stubborn, irritating and altogether awesome brother should never have been in that state and it was all Germany's fault he was.

Not that Prussia would allow Germany to blame himself for the whole fiasco that had consumed so much of the twentieth century. Any time Germany started to even hint that it might be his fault, Prussia had a never-ending store of logical, sensible and downright unanswerable reasons that it wasn't. They didn't stop the guilt, but they helped a little in those dark times when all he could think of were the mass graves and the showers and the bitter-almond smell that he could never quite stop smelling.

Prussia understood. He understood the way flickering not-quite-real memories could sometimes stop Germany when something from a past that was mostly lost to him rose up to smack him. Mostly when Italy Veneziano did or said something that brought up the time when he'd had a different name. Prussia never teased him about that: it was something mostly unspoken between them, their secret.

He didn't mind not remembering being the Holy Roman Empire: it was probably for the best, given how much France and his boss back then had wanted to destroy him. Prussia had hidden him for months while he lay in that state that was deeper than unconsciousness but not – quite – dead.

Germany pulled his thoughts from that path. He didn't need to think about that: it would only irritate him and he needed to relax. His head still pounded from the meeting and shouting at the others to sit down and act like adults for once.

Not that they had. They never did, and if he dared do anything more than try to keep the damned meeting in order the whispers would start, the ones suggesting he'd willingly followed the Austrian madman and worn _that_ black uniform and personally killed his own people. The last time there'd been a spate of those Prussia had to stop him eating a bullet, and Prussia went to the meetings the next month. After which several shame-faced nations had sent apologies, but Germany knew it wouldn't last.

This one had been bad: the dragging economy had tempers on edge and Germany was trapped between competing factions. If he kept helping European Union nations with the biggest problems, he was accused of trying to take them over through the EU. If he stopped, he was letting them fall so he could take them over more easily. And people wondered why his own economy was weaker than it should be. He couldn't carry the entire damned EU on his own.

He smiled a little when he turned into his street. So close now. He'd called Prussia when the plane landed, so his brother would be waiting. Knowing Prussia, there'd be a freshly-cooked meal ready for him, and all the paperwork his bosses loved to pile on him would be finished, with everything set up so he could actually rest for a couple of days – barring emergencies of course.

Germany almost chuckled at the memory of Prussia informing Chancellor Merkel that no, riots in Dresden did not constitute an emergency. Rioters storming the Bundestag or the Chancellery did. And no, Prussia was not going to make himself a target, nor would he allow anyone to make his brother one. The Chancellor herself was quite reasonable about the whole thing, although some of her ministers had looked like they'd bitten into a lemon by mistake (Prussia had said they looked like the arse end of a cat, which wasn't fair to cats).

He pulled into his driveway, smiling a bit more when the garage door opened as he approached. Prussia must have his laptop hooked into the house security system again. For a nation who'd been known mostly for his fierce love of war, Prussia had taken to modern technology with remarkable enthusiasm.

Germany pulled into the garage, letting his Mercedes-Maybach – an early model for the new line released to him as a personal gift from the company, something he was uncomfortable accepting but couldn't gracefully refuse – bring itself to a halt. The vehicle wasn't _quite_ self-steering, but it was capable of parking in a garage and leaving enough space for all the doors to be used.

By the time the engine stopped – not that he could hear a difference between stopped and idling – Prussia was at the inside door, trademark smirk firmly in place, gesturing for his brother to open the trunk.

#

Germany started to wonder who had been informing on him when Prussia not only carried his suitcase inside but ordered him to sit himself down at the dining table because dinner was ready and Prussia was quite capable of putting Germany's clothes in the laundry basket thank you. The familiar odors that greeted him when he opened the door to the dining room told him someone had warned Prussia the meeting hadn't been a good one.

Prussia could cook, but he saved his brother's favorite dishes for special treats, claiming if they had those every day they'd stop being special. Germany couldn't argue that, even if it meant he rarely enjoyed Prussia's Koenigsberger klopse and the potato and sauerkraut Prussia usually cooked to go with it. Germany would be shocked if there wasn't streuselkuchen in the kitchen ready to be served after the meal.

The familiar aroma reminded Germany of those – all too few – idyllic days when Prussia wasn't involved in some war or other and would cook for his little brother, back before Germany had become a nation in his own right. When he came home to sauerbraten or rouladen, it took him back to those days, when he had nothing to worry about because Prussia would take care of everything. Koenigsberger klopse meant Prussia was worried and wanted to protect him: when he'd been recovering from losing the Holy Roman Empire, he'd been terribly ill – not that Germany remembered those years clearly, just Prussia always close, holding him up to feed him soup, then as he grew stronger, his brother's signature dish.

Germany smiled softly and sat at the table, not missing that it was set, ready for the meal to be served. His brother, efficient as always.

Said brother returned from unpacking Germany's suitcase and went straight to the kitchen, returning soon after with plates filled with food. He set both on the table then returned to fetch beer.

Germany waited until Prussia took his seat before he started eating: it was only fair.

As always the meal was perfect: seasonings just enough to boost the natural flavors without overwhelming them, textures exactly what they should be. Germany might like to bake in his spare time but when it came to comfort food, nothing beat his brother's cooking.

They didn't talk much while they ate, but once Germany was done demolishing the meal, he asked, "So who's been gossiping about me?"

Prussia laughed, the hissing snicker that had once set all the nations of Europe hastening to check their border defenses and the readiness of their armies. "You'd be surprised, little brother." The grin Prussia wore had been known to frighten weaker nations – which in the day had been almost all of them.

Germany raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

If anything, Prussia's grin grew wider – and, frankly, more malicious. "Oh, yes. See, ever since that time I substituted for you, they're terrified I'll do it again. I think half of them are convinced I want to take over and destroy you."

Not that there was any chance of that. However brutal Prussia could be to his enemies – and there were few limits there – to those he protected he would never show his darker side. Germany, as possibly the only living thing his brother both loved and trusted – well, with the exception of Prussia's bird – had no doubt that his brother would die rather than allow him to come to harm. He'd given himself to Russia to protect Germany, lied through his teeth to take the blame for the war and the horrors their mad boss had wrought, when Prussia more than any other nation had been the victim of them.

"Would you?" Germany was a little surprised by the wistfulness in his tone. "Take over, I mean. I know you'd never do the other."

Prussia's expression softened and he chuckled low in his throat, an almost-growl of a sound. "Fuck, no. Catch me landing myself all that paperwork and shit your bosses throw at you? Not awesome."

Not that Germany had expected Prussia to say anything else. A small smile touched his face. "So who told you it was a bad meeting?"

Prussia shrugged. "Canada texted me Wednesday to warn me you'd need extra attention." He grinned. "Kid might be quiet, but he ain't stupid."

Germany must have been entirely too obvious, if his tension had been noticeable that early.

"Thursday I got messages from Spain, France, England, Italy Veneziano, Italy Romano, and America."

Germany winced. When _America_ noticed, things were bad.

"Australia, New Zealand, Austria, Hungary, Poland, Liechtenstein, Vietnam, China, Japan, and Switzy all messaged me today," Prussia finished.

Germany blinked. He was surprised so many nations cared about his welfare – although arguably they cared more that Prussia didn't have to replace Germany at the meetings. Apparently Prussia had run the meeting he'd attended with the same ruthless efficiency he'd applied to all his wars, leaving the rest of the world in a state of shock bordering on terror. Even Russia had apologized afterwards, and Russia _never_ apologized to anyone for anything. Ever.

Prussia grinned, his scarlet eyes gleaming. "They're all still scared of me, West."

Much as Germany would have liked to dispute that, the facts suggested otherwise. He'd seen it, the way nations would tense when they heard Prussia's distinctive snickering or his loud laughter, then the way they'd relax once it was clear Prussia was merely playing the oafish buffoon again. They'd cheerfully throw insults at Prussia while they thought he was a powerless has-been of a former nation, but let a hint of his old military discipline leak out and the other nations were looking for cover.

Prussia the hard-drinking, boastful, oblivious ass was easy to deal with. Prussia the military superpower was something else, something all of them feared.

It was why Germany let the other nations believe his brother was a barely-tolerated layabout when the truth was that Prussia shared his duties as the avatar of Germany, and more than that, Prussia represented the German military and security. Then there was the way his brother had rekindled his connection to the Teutonic Knights – no longer a military order and much smaller than they'd been at their peak, but they existed, and on Sundays Prussia could often be found at one or another of their churches, giving the service as the ordained priest he had been back in the day. He was a regular visitor to the Order's hospitals, too, helping out in whatever capacity was needed without a hint of the pride that he showed the other nations.

The others would want him destroyed if they knew how much Prussia did – and if they knew how much of it was strategically important to Germany and the rest of Europe there'd be no stopping them. So he and his brother lied, Prussia by acting the dummkopf, Germany by straight-faced omission. Neither of them had many visitors these days, so it wasn't hard to let the rest of the world believe that Prussia lurked in Germany's basement drinking beer and playing first person shooters.

Not that Prussia didn't do that as well, he just didn't do it all the time.

"I'm sure you never gave them reason for fear," Germany murmured.

Prussia laughed then, a real laugh and not his usual faked cackle. "If me being my awesome self is too much for them, then more fool them." He stood, collecting the dishes. "Streuselkuchen?"

Germany nodded. "And coffee, please." The tight knot between his shoulder-blades was finally unraveling, and his headache had eased to something dull and steady rather than the pounding misery he'd endured all week.

The coffee was just as he liked it, too, dark and bitter with just a hint of sweetness from honey. Prussia preferred tea – Russian-style, even, one of the few reminders of his time under Russia's control that didn't come with bad memories.

If truth be told there wasn't much in Prussia's life that didn't have more than its share of darkness one way or the other: even as a toddler he'd had to fight simply to survive. That was what happened when your land had no natural boundaries and – arguably worse – was a major trading route from West to East. Had Prussia not fought with everything he had, he'd not have survived his first century, and been nothing more than another lost tribe in Eastern Europe's long and bloody history.

Small wonder he'd protected Germany so much – anything to avoid his brother suffering the same fate. Germany's boundaries weren't exactly natural either, even though these days the rest of the world was likely to land _hard_ on anyone who tried to change any European border. Nearly seventy years of mostly peace had left the rest of Europe very keen to maintain that mostly-peace, even if they had to spend centuries glaring at each other and squashing old resentments.

As Prussia had said more than once, if they couldn't get past the old grudges all of them had, they might as well forget the attempts to maintain peace and just go back to trying to kill each other by any means they could devise. The other nations would probably be stunned that Prussia wasn't in favor of any such thing no matter how much he loved fighting, loved the thrill of battle.

They'd likely be horrified to learn how the former nation satisfied the urge, too. Germany hadn't exactly been pleased to learn his brother had found a way to pay little 'visits' to the world's war zones, where he'd fight against whichever party seemed to him to be most against Germany's interests. At times that meant Prussia stalked battlefields attacking both sides.

At least there hadn't been anything leaking to the media. Word of a pale avatar of death stalking battles would alert the other nations and who knew what would happen then.

Germany wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd rather not know how Prussia kept things quiet.

He savored the last of his coffee, letting his eyes drift closed as he drank. After a moment he heard Prussia stand and walk over to him, then his brother's hands rested on his back, warm and strong.

"God. Your muscles feel like someone tied them in knots."

Germany snorted. "You should try it from my end."

"No thanks, West." He didn't have to look to know Prussia was grinning, the wicked, impish smile that lit his red eyes and made him look more than a little like the demon he'd been proclaimed. "I'd rather relax you." A pause. "And _relax_ you."

Germany raised an eyebrow without opening his eyes. "Would this be one of those relaxation sessions where I can't remember my own name afterwards?"

Prussia snickered. "Naturally. Even your office can't give you a stress headache for a week after one of those." His hands dug into the tightest knots, forcing tense muscles to relax.

"It makes them feel inadequate if they can't do that." Germany murmured, earning himself another hissing laugh.

"You being their nation isn't an excuse for them to abuse you," His tone was very dry. "You don't make them feel better by making yourself feel worse."

"Just as well I've got you to protect me, then."

Prussia only snorted. "You done here, West? I'll get the dishes and shit while you shower and take yourself downstairs, okay?" He wasn't – exactly – asking.

A thrill of anticipation ran down Germany's spine, making nerves tingle and his stomach and vital regions tighten. Their rarely-discussed code: Prussia was suggesting a session of intense sex in which he would top.

Frankly, they didn't need to discuss their sex life. Their codes had grown over the years since reunification. Upstairs meant the bedroom they shared and mostly vanilla sex. Downstairs was hard-core, and Germany – as the one being topped – would give his preferences for the session once he was in the room that was officially Prussia's bedroom. If he didn't want it, all he had to do was say he'd rather not, and that would be the end of the matter for tonight.

He smiled. "I'll meet you down there."

#

Despite knowing very well that there was nothing about his body Prussia hadn't seen many times, Germany couldn't bring himself to wander through his home without clothing. It was a little too close to public nudity, something he'd never been capable of.

Since actually dressing would have been rather pointless, he compromised with a pale blue bathrobe that covered everything that mattered and was quite comfortable besides. He heard Prussia putting dishes away as he padded down the stairs, and smiled a little to hear his brother humming an old march.

Down another flight of stairs to the basement, and Prussia's den, a cozy room with an overlarge TV connected to an array of gaming consoles, and Prussia's old flags hung on the walls. Only the two of them ever saw this room: their visitors were easily deterred by, "Oh, that's Prussia's lair. You don't want to go there."

The room was – like Prussia himself – scrupulously neat, with everything ordered precisely to his brother's preferences, and if none of the furniture was particularly stylish it was all comfortable and functional. The same could be said for the coat rack at the door to the bedroom, which was where Germany shed the bathrobe.

Modesty aside, it didn't feel right entering that room in a fuzzy blue bathrobe. It just didn't.

The room they called Prussia's bedroom was, apart from the bed, as stark and spartan as a military encampment. The bed – overlarge, with a sturdy wrought iron frame that afforded plenty of anchor points – was the only furniture in the room unless one counted the solid hooks set into the beams, hooks that would acquire potted plants if there was any risk of visitors but were normally left just as they were.

Half a dozen steps brought Germany from the door to the closet, and the toys. He opened the top drawer and removed a heavy leather collar, the leather worn and scuffed, but soft and supple. Fastening that around his neck was second nature: of the two of them he was the one who more often than not needed to let go of responsibility and simply be.

The second drawer held a selection of restraints, everything from soft leather cuffs to police and military issue handcuffs. Germany chose a pair of leather cuffs with steel reinforcements, a silent indicator to his brother that while he didn't mind heavy dominance/submission play, that wasn't his preference.

From the assortment of whips, floggers, canes, and crops, he chose an old, well-used riding crop: that would signal that pain wasn't a necessity for the session, but that if Prussia chose to inflict some, Germany wouldn't necessarily safeword out.

That done, he removed the lube from the top drawer and set it on the shelf built into the wall by the bed, then laid the cuffs and crop on the bed, where Prussia could reach them easily – and reach him easily as well – and knelt on the thick dark green carpet, hands resting lightly on his thighs, head bowed a little.

Kneeling like this, it was easier to let the tension from the meeting drain away, to relax while he waited for his brother to join him. The plain white sheets smelled faintly of lavender, a counterpoint to the rather muskier scent that had a faint hint of blood and steel and power – Prussia's scent.

He wasn't sure how long he waited: they didn't keep clocks in here. He heard Prussia descend, heard the door to the den close. A little later, the sound of the bedroom door opening.

Germany didn't turn, although he felt as though his ears were shifting on his head, straining for the sounds that would tell him what Prussia was doing.

Soft click from the bedroom door, then a short while later Prussia's soft laughter. "You make such a delicious offering, little brother." Then quiet, the only sounds Germany could make out his own and Prussia's breathing.

Finally, the clink of metal against metal, and softer chink of metal against other things: Prussia choosing what else he'd be using on Germany tonight.

Germany waited, content. Odd as it might seem, he felt no desire to peek, to see what Prussia intended. He'd find out soon enough. That stillness, the sense of being completely in his brother's hands, was something he valued too much to risk. Helpless, yes, but cherished and _wanted_ , and knowing all the while that Prussia would never break him. Could never. That wasn't what they did.

He didn't hear Prussia's footsteps: the thick carpet muffled them too well. Instead he felt his brother's presence behind him, strength Germany couldn't help but marvel at, because no matter what, Prussia always had that power, that sense of contained energy ready to be released should the need arise. Even more than eighty years after his nation had ceased to exist, close to seventy after the de facto dissolution had been made de jure by the victorious Allied powers, and twenty five years after the sad ghost of Prussia that was East Germany had finally been laid to rest, Prussia remained strong. Powerful.

Germany could only hope he'd be that strong one day. He knew others thought him so, but where the rest of the world saw strength, Germany knew there was weakness, a brittleness and fragility that could be too easily shattered if not for Prussia willingly lending him anything he needed.

Movement at the corner of his eye, Prussia taking the crop from the bed. After a moment, the touch of leather to his chin, a silent command to turn his head and look up.

From this angle, Prussia looked like a scarred marble god. He'd taken his shirt off, revealing a toned, muscular chest laced with the scars of years in battle. A hint of a smirk curled his lips, and his eyes were half-closed, adding a devilish cast to his appearance.

Germany swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

Prussia gestured with the crop, and Germany stood, turning to face his brother. It always felt wrong to Germany that he was just a little taller, that he was broader, more muscular. Prussia should be the larger, the stronger... well, Prussia _was_ stronger, he just didn't look it. When they sparred together, Germany counted himself to have done well if he could win one time in ten.

The crop moved to point to the cuffs on the bed, another wordless command.

Germany bent to pick them up, handed them to his brother, offering his wrists in the same gesture.

Prussia moved with deliberate sensuality, caressing Germany's wrists before closing the cuffs around them, and when he was done, he held Germany's hands in his for a moment, his long fingers pale beside Germany's shorter, blunt fingers.

Now Prussia smiled, and held up a cock ring with a short length of chain attached. His eyes sparkled when Germany's breath caught, then he said in a low voice that was almost a purr. "On the bed, kneeling."

Germany obeyed, positioning himself so Prussia had easy access – although he shivered when Prussia slid the cool metal along his cock, and gasped when the older nation fastened his cuffs to the cock ring. Heat curled in his stomach, in his balls.

"Cold, little brother?" Prussia blew softly along the length of his cock, and Germany shivered again, every nerve alive and tingling. He swallowed.

"Now, let's get you into position."

Before Germany could wonder what Prussia meant by that, he was tipped forward until his head rested on the pillows, each involuntary movement from his bound hands sending a pulse of pleasure-pain through his cock. It took all his willpower not to wrap his hands around himself.

Then Prussia was pushing his knees and ankles apart, wrapping soft leather around his ankles and... oh. A spreader bar. Of course. Prussia must have easy access to the territory he was invading after all.

Another metallic sound, and Germany's cuffs were linked to the spreader bar – Prussia must have chosen the one with the central ring – effectively immobilizing him.

Now Prussia's hands ran along his back, teasing and massaging, Prussia's breath warm against his skin, leaving a chill when he moved on, Prussia's weight on his body, solid and comforting. Soft breath against his ear, murmured promises that made Germany's cock hot and heavy and his balls tight.

Finally, when Germany started to tremble, and would have come if not for the now-tight metal around his cock, Prussia moved away. Sounds of a bottle being opened, the lube, Germany thought. Silence, then a cool pressure against his entrance, gentle, but unyielding.

He shuddered and tried to relax the tight muscles a little, enough to let a small ovoid through. Pleasure bullet, he thought. Then another. And a third. Prussia's weight shifting on the bed, making balance difficult, then the fourth bullet pressed up against his balls and the small plug that could be used to keep the bullets in place or to retrieve them in his hands pressing lightly against his cock.

Germany tried to catch his breath when realization dawned, then he cried out as pleasure so intense it bordered on pain exploded through him, the bullets vibrating and sending him into spasms as his body tried to climax again and couldn't, not properly, not with the cock ring keeping him from reaching that last height.

It was too much, every involuntary movement a new height of agony and bliss so intertwined he couldn't tell which was which.

Sharp crack across his ass, a sting of pain that grounded him for a moment before melting into the sensory overload. Another, and another, Prussia timing his strokes so each one had faded from pain into warmth before the next brought him back and made the nerves that much more sensitive.

Prussia's hand, warm against his balls, and Germany jerked involuntarily, a moan escaping him when the movement jolted through his bound hands and cock.

Low laughter, not quite mocking. "God, brother, you're so hot like this." Prussia's other hand caressed the tender skin he'd so recently been whipping, warm and gentle and making Germany want to melt into his brother's embrace. "So awesome."

Every touch seemed electric, heightened to something that would have been unbearable if Germany had needed the contact any less. He leaned against Prussia, drawing strength from the older nation's solid warmth, from the presence that hadn't really changed since Germany's first real memories.

Then Prussia changed the setting on the beads and everything else faded.

#

When Germany returned to himself, the beads still buzzed their pleasurable torture, albeit on a lower setting, and he was still painfully hard, but his cuffs were no longer linked to the cock ring or the spreader bar, and he'd been rolled to his side, with Prussia warm and strong against his back, arms wrapped around him protectively.

"Are you ready to be conquered, West?" Prussia's voice was a low rumble against his ear.

Germany didn't answer with words: instead he turned to lie on his stomach, drawing shaky legs in so he knelt on the bed once more, a silent offering of everything he was.

Even knowing what would replace them, Germany whined as Prussia withdrew the pleasure beads, and leaned in to his brother's teasing fingers, making no attempt to control his body's reactions to the gentle stretching, the caresses and kisses and licking and biting. There was no thought: nothing but him and Prussia united as they should be.

Prussia's infamous 'five meters' stretched and filled him, hot and hard and making him see stars when Prussia thrust back in after pulling out almost completely, movements slow and powerful. To Germany, it seemed every centimeter could bring him over if not for the cock ring that kept him from full climax.

Too slowly, Prussia reached for the cock ring, his weight making Germany tremble with effort, then those long, clever fingers found the latch and the ring fell away, but Prussia's other hand held him tight, blocking him though he tried with weary muscles to thrust into that hand.

"Soon," Prussia promised, his hips moving to pull back before another thrust.

Germany couldn't have said how much time passed until Prussia's grip shifted and he started to pump harshly, the rough movements exactly what Germany needed, until Prussia murmured, "Come for me, little brother," and Germany obeyed, his body wholly Prussia's tool in that endless moment. If he cried out, he didn't hear it, that too-brief ecstasy overwhelming everything else.

He would have collapsed without his brother's hands on his hips holding him in place while Prussia finished himself off, a final burst of ecstasy to Germany's oversensitive nerves.

Then they lay collapsed on the bed together, Prussia's arms wrapped around Germany, his warmth and strength Germany's rock, his foundation. All the week's tension was gone, melted away, and Germany would have liked nothing more than to sleep like this, safe in his brother's embrace.

Prussia shifted position a little. "Let's get you out of that shit and cleaned up, hm?"

"I'd rather sleep," Germany murmured.

"Yeah, me too." Prussia made a sound a little like he was shrugging. "Waking up after would kind of suck, though." He pulled away, and Germany heard him in the bathroom, before he returned with a warm cloth.

That was nice. Germany left his eyes closed and enjoyed Prussia's ministrations, even whined a little when his brother removed the cuffs and the collar – they did occasionally play longer games, but evidently tonight was not going to be one of them. He didn't object to losing the spreader bar: it made lying on his side more than a little awkward.

The sound of Prussia cleaning the toys in the bathroom roused Germany from near sleep to shuffle to the bathroom – he didn't hurt, exactly, but he really didn't want to move, either – where his brother grinned at him. "Go to bed, West. Upstairs or down, your call."

Germany didn't respond for a moment. When he did, he said, "Up. Change the sheets here tomorrow."

Prussia nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me." And smiled. "Feel better now?"

"Much better, thank you." Weirdly formal, this, for Prussia values of formal, anyway.

"Good." Prussia finished drying the cock ring, and bundled the toys together to put away. "Off you go, then. I won't be long."

As if to prove that he was indeed relaxed and content, Germany murmured, "Five meters isn't long."

The laughter that followed him from the room gave him the energy to drag his weary body up the two flights of stairs to their bedroom, where he dropped into the bed, his eyes drifting closed almost before his head hit the pillow.

When, not long after that, Prussia slipped into the bed beside him and curled his body around Germany's, he was only barely awake enough to notice. And smile.


End file.
